


what greater gift

by valety



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Cats, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Other, POV Second Person, Post-Pacifist Route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 14:15:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8059474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valety/pseuds/valety
Summary: Chara adopts a cat. Asriel does too, he guesses.





	

**Author's Note:**

> “what greater gift than the love of a cat?  
> -walt whitman, probably
> 
> you are almost certain walt whitman said that.
> 
> warnings for implied/referenced past animal abuse. however, there is no abuse onscreen and there is no mention of anything graphic
> 
> update: [WILL SMITH HANDS!!!!](http://dialoguelostloop.tumblr.com/post/150613367031/have-you-read-lumalees-charasriel-fic-what)

The apartment that you share with Chara on the ninth floor of an aging building has a number of useful features, including a fully furnished kitchen, a tiny balcony that’s positively overflowing with potted plants, and, of course, air conditioning. You’d known all of this before you’d even bothered moving in: in fact, those features had been part of why you’d chosen the apartment in the first place. However, the one thing that you hadn’t known was that it was also, apparently, pet friendly.

At least, it had better be, or else you’re going to have a problem on your hands.

“What is _that?”_ you demand, _that_ being the soot-coloured mound of fur currently curled up on Chara’s lap.

“A cat,” they reply, stroking the creature’s head as it rumbles. You can hear it even from across the room.

“A cat,” you repeat. You drop your coat and bag onto the floor in a careless heap, then warily approach the couch. The creature lifts its head and glares at you with sharp green eyes. It looks more like a surly dustball than a feline. “Where did you even get it?”

“The shelter,” Chara answers promptly. “I’ve been going there to pet dogs. I would’ve picked a dog, but it didn’t seem fair—we don’t have a yard, and I wouldn’t be able to walk one as much as it would need. I saw this beauty as I was leaving, though, and fell in love instantly.”

“They just let you _take_ it?” you cry. You begin to rub your temples. You think that you can feel a headache coming on. Or not, but you want Chara to think you do. Maybe then they’ll feel a little guilty about springing this on you. “Isn’t there supposed to be a whole procedure for this kind of thing? Fees and interviews and stuff?”

“I may have dropped your name,” Chara says, smiling sweetly. “You’d be amazed what people are willing to do for royalty, even royalty that doesn’t have a kingdom anymore.”

You plop down beside them on the couch, staring at the animal. The animal stares back, unmoving and unblinking. “You used my name and you didn’t even think to _ask_ me first?” you peevishly demand. The cat’s eyes are starting to unsettle you, but you won’t be the one to look away first, and so you screw up your face into the best glare you can muster, hoping to intimidate it.

“No,” is Chara’s blunt reply. “It didn’t seem to matter.”

Fair enough.

“You can name it if you want,” Chara offers in what is probably meant to be an olive branch of sorts. “Unless you pick a name like Whiskers. I reserve the right to veto really stupid ones like that.”

“What are good cat names?” you ask, and Chara’s expression shifts from wheedling to satisfied. Privately you curse yourself for giving in so easily. You should be kicking up a fuss, not feebly asking their advice on naming things.

“Regulus?” Chara suggests, scritching the cat’s ears. The rumbling intensifies, as though the creature is a tiny earthquake contained within a ball of fur. “Denebola? Leo is a bit obvious, I think, but I would still accept it. Or Fe—”

“Grey,” you interrupt, more to make them stop than anything else. You know fully well that Chara’s capable of going on for hours once you get them started on a topic they have interest in. Like cat names, apparently.

 _“Grey?”_ they repeat, brow wrinkling with distaste. “Really?”

“You said I could name it,” you retort before self-consciousness can settle in. “If it’s going to be living here, then it’s my pet too, and that’s the name I choose! Grey, or...or Smokey, maybe? Or—”

“I’m texting Frisk,” Chara interrupts. They already have their phone out. “I can’t depend on you for this.”

 

  
[Text to: Frisk]

[attached: a picture of a small, suspicious looking bundle of grey fur]  
time for another exciting round of…  
NAME!  
THAT!

 

hmmmmmmmmm petra!

 

CAT!  
aw c’mon you asshole you could’ve at least let me finish

petra!!!! It’s perfect!!!!!!  
also give the kitty a kiss for me ( ˘ ³˘)♥  
wait since when did you guys have a cat

 

  
“It’s kind of clever,” Chara begrudgingly admits, holding the phone up for you to see. “Petra as in _stone,_ as in the colour of her fur.”

“Petra as in _she’s our pet,”_ you say, disgusted. “It’s a freaking pun.”

Chara laughs for five minutes straight after that. All the while, you fight the urge to snap their phone in half. But when they finally calm down, they beam at you and wrap their arms around your neck, pulling you down towards them. “You said _our,”_ they say happily, pressing their forehead against yours. “She’s our baby now. She’ll be all grown up and starting college before we know it.”

Helplessly, you look away, eyes falling on the cat, who’s watching the proceedings with a disdainful eye.

“Mrow,” says Petra.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Neither one of you has ever had a pet before. There weren’t a lot of options for pets Underground, although Chara had seemed satisfied with occasionally playing with the Royal Guard, saying it was just as good. As for yourself, you hadn’t really cared. It had never seemed essential—you’d known that other children had them sometimes, especially on the surface, but you had done just fine without, especially after Chara’s arrival.

Because of that, neither one of you know what’s needed for a cat. The shelter had helped Chara pick out basic supplies—a carrier, a litter box, a special kind of food—but Chara decides fairly quickly that the basics alone won’t be enough. You know perfectly well that this is nonsense, that the shelter wouldn’t have let them take an animal they weren’t fully prepared to care for, but you’re too used to letting them take the lead with this sort of thing to argue, and that’s how you let yourself get roped into going to the pet store with them, wallets on the ready.

You return with a whole pile of products and the firm conviction that absolutely none of it necessary; a cat bed, a scratching post, two different kinds of brushes, and more. But although the trip is a long and expensive one, you can’t bring yourself to feel annoyed, not when you see how wide the smile on Chara’s face is.

“You’ve barely had this cat for three hours and it’s already the most spoiled animal in the city,” you say in the elevator. “Is this a cat person thing, or a Chara thing?”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Chara demands, smacking you in the side with their shopping bag. It’s light, because they wound up forcing _you_ to carry most of today’s purchases, but the intent is still there, so you retaliate by nudging them to the best of your ability despite your full arms.

“Humans joke sometimes about people who really like cats, don’t they? But I feel like you just kind of... _do_ this,” you explain, _this_ meaning _go way overboard for those you’ve decided to love,_ but that would be embarrassing to say. You hope the implication alone is enough to get your point across.

Chara is silent for a moment. “I never bought _you_ a scratching post,” they say pettishly.

“I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean…?”

“It means shut up,” Chara snaps as the elevator door slides open. “We have a cat to pamper.”

Your apartment is already so sparsely decorated that the pet products quickly seem to overtake your other furniture, transforming it into some kind of cat apartment. You definitely need to get more stuff, you think gravely as you watch Chara set up the scratching post in the corner. You don’t want some dustball totally invading the space that’s meant for you and them.

Although you suppose it already has, you think sourly as you watch Petra slink over to her new food dish. She sniffs the unappetizing-looking pellets contemptuously, but despite her apparent disdain, she begins to eat a moment later.

Chara kneels beside the bowl, watching Petra eat with an intense expression on their face. You kneel so that you can watch her too, but you’re pretty sure that you can’t see whatever it is Chara sees. You’re not seeing anything that makes you feel particularly rapturous, at any rate.

Instead, you can’t help but notice just how... _small_ she is.

“Was this really a good idea?” you ask.

“Too late now,” Chara breezily replies, reaching out to stroke Petra’s ears. She stops eating in favour of bumping her head against Chara’s hand. You notice that she barely made a dent in her food dish. Is that normal? Is it because she’s already so small?

“I just meant that neither one of us has ever taken care of anything before,” you explain.

“We’ve taken care of each other,” Chara points out. “And I got Frisk all the way through the Underground with them only dying, like, twice.”

“We could still look out for _ourselves,_ though,” you say. Maybe Chara moreso than yourself, but you won’t say that part. “An animal will be totally dependent on us. If we mess up…”

A hand slips into yours. When you lift your head, Chara’s smiling at you. Softly, with none of that hard, bitter edge that so often works its way into their smiles.

“She won’t be completely dependent,” they say gently. “Cats are solitary animals, and this one’s about two years old already. She won’t be as needy as a kitten would be. All we’re really here for is cleaning up and giving her affection and helping her feel safe. That shouldn’t be too hard, should it?”

Wordlessly, you shake your head, because you’re pretty sure that that’s what you’re supposed to do.

You watch as Chara continues to pet her, smiling with as much affection as you’ve ever seen from them, and as Petra mewls plaintively and strains into their touch, you wonder if you might be beginning to share some of it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Your newfound affection for this weird, tiny animal lasts until about 2:13 AM, when you wake up and find something small and sharp digging into your face.

Your initial panic causes you to yelp and flail, limbs scrabbling to free yourself from whatever has you trapped. You only manage to calm down once you realize what has happened: that Petra was using you as a bridge to get to Chara, whose head they settle down against after one final dig into your face with their claws.

“Chara,” you say, voice flat. You’re now fully awake and you know perfectly well that they’re not asleep either. Their breathing is too uneven, probably from suppressed laughter.

“Yes, my love?” Chara drawls, back still to you.

“I don’t want that cat in our bedroom while we’re sleeping.”

“I don’t mind,” they answer, slowly sitting up and looking up at you with a deceptively angelic-looking sleepy face.

“ _I_ do!” you protest. “I don’t want it stabbing me in the night!”

“It’s fine,” Chara says, lifting a hand and letting it rest on the nape of your neck. You let out a startled huff of air as your shoulders begin to relax, unbidden. Their hand slowly moves up and settles down somewhere behind your ears, where their fingers start to rake soothing lines.

“‘S’ _not_ fine,” you grumble, eyelids growing heavy.

“It’s fine,” Chara repeats, voice still soft. “It’s fine. Now lie down again.”

You lie down. Petra remains nestled between your two heads, having apparently staked her claim, but Chara’s hand settles somewhere on your hip, and that simple contact is enough to soothe you back to sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It had never occurred to you that cats could have a personality. They’re not people, you know that much—that’s what makes them _pets,_ as opposed to _someones_ like Catty, who now works at a boutique you like and is apparently dating Bratty. But as the days go by, you gradually begin to piece together something of a personality for Petra, one beyond the standard stereotype of ‘arrogant.’

You’d call her _cautious,_ you think. She spends most of her time hiding or trailing after Chara, and if it weren’t for how cat-ified your apartment has become, you’d probably forget that she was even there sometimes.

Her favourite place appears to be the cupboard underneath the sink, and so one day, Chara begins to clear out the cleaning supplies with the stated intention of moving the cat bed there.

“Is this really okay?” you ask as they pass you a jug of bleach in need of a new home.

“Of course it is,” Chara answers confidently, rummaging beneath the sink and emerging with three separate half-empty bottles of Windex. “Petra needs a private place where she can feel safe until she gets used to us, and if this is the spot she likes best, then the least we can do is accommodate that. So find somewhere to put that, please.”

You wind up shoving everything in the pantry over the fridge, deciding that if Chara doesn’t like it, Chara can be the one who rearranges everything.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Chara talks sometimes about Petra getting used to the apartment, but she already seems to be pretty used to things, considering just how many hiding spots she’s found. Because of that, you start to wonder if by _the apartment_ Chara actually means _us,_ but Petra seems to be more than comfortable with Chara. She follows them around constantly, rubbing up against their legs and mewling for attention whenever Chara’s not already petting her.

So you guess that just leaves you.

Although she occasionally uses you as a bridge to get to Chara, or as a pillow or a scratching post, she refuses to let you touch her, always drawing back and glaring at you with wary green eyes. The one time you try and stroke her anyway—just to see if that might win her over, because she really _does_ seem to like it when Chara does it — you get attacked.

In Petra’s defense, she doesn’t bite immediately. But in _your_ defense, you don’t think you entirely deserve it.

It happens while you’re kneeling, slowly reaching out to her and pausing just before you touch to let her sniff your hand. You’re doing everything you can to seem non-threatening, and yet she glares at you anyway, pupils thin. The next thing you know, small, sharp teeth are sinking into your hand, and you yelp and tear it away. Petra yowls, ears going flat, and you stare at her helplessly, torn between a desire to cry and yowl back.

Before you can do either, Chara appears in the doorway. They march into the room with a blanket in their arms, which they then drop over Petra before bending and lifting the squirming bundle into their arms.

“What are you doing?” you ask, baffled.

“Moving Petra to her cupboard,” Chara replies. The bundle in their arms grows still, as though it could somehow understand them. “She’s panicking. It’s not your fault,” they add, and then they slip away, presumably to the kitchen, leaving you to fume on the floor.

Although you guess you don’t actually need to be on the floor.

You stand up.

When Chara returns, they have a bandage. They wrap it around your dusty hand quickly and efficiently—you probably should have done this part yourself while they were gone, whoops—and say, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” you repeat. “Why are you sorry?”

Chara bites their lip. Not meeting your eyes, they say, “I brought Petra into our apartment without even asking you, and she’s not being very nice to you. I’ll...understand if you want to get rid of her.”

“We can’t get _rid_ of her,” you say, appalled. “It would be cruel to send her back now, just because she isn’t social. Do you really think I’m such a jerk that I’d even _consider_ doing something like that?”

Chara doesn’t answer right away.

When they do, they lift their head. Their eyes are bright, face shining with a smile.

“No,” they say. “I don’t.”

 

* * *

 

 

You really _don’t_ want to get rid of Petra. Even though she bites and scratches, latches onto your ankles and tries to trip you, you’ve already grown accustomed to her creeping around corners and crawling over you at night. You’re not sure what you’d do without her at this point.

Besides, she adores Chara. Anything that can appreciate Chara the way you do is something you can get along with, even if it has to be from a distance.

At least, you _wish_ that you could get along with her. Petra doesn’t seem to share the sentiment, judging from just how often she swipes at you.

After one particularly nasty scratch—this time, you bandage it yourself, LIKE AN ADULT—you heave a sigh and pull out your phone.

 

  
[Text to: Frisk]

the cat still hates me......

 

lol

 

it’s not funny??????

 

♥lol♥  
are u sure ur not just projecting  
do u feel threatened by her

 

NO!!!!!!!!!  
she keeps trying to eat me, that is a real actual CRIME she is committing against me!!!!!

 

if she bites u, bite her back

 

you’re not helping!!!!!!!!!!!!

I should see this cat maybe I can convince her to stop bullying u

 

you should come over tomorrow afkdsnhnkl

???  
OH NOOOO THE CAT ATE ASRIEL  
WHY DIDN'T I LISTEN ‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚

 

“Stop texting Frisk,” Chara says, headbutting your shoulder. You didn’t even notice them sitting down beside you. “You were away all day. Pay attention to me.”

“Maybe Petra likes you so much because she senses kin,” you say, but you wrap your arms around them all the same, trying not to smile too hard when they give a hum of contentment and sink their teeth into your shoulder.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Frisk stops by the following afternoon. They immediately fall to their knees, chirping and cooing and clicking their tongue at Petra, and you fully expect the animal to run to them and start licking their face like a dog. It’s Frisk, after all, and you’ve yet to meet a single person, living or dead, who doesn’t automatically love Frisk.

But apparently, Petra doesn’t. Instead, she pulls away as warily as she pulls away from you, then darts out of the room and towards the kitchen.

“I guess she doesn’t like me either,” Frisk says sadly.

“She only likes _me,_ ” Chara declares. “She likes me because she recognizes me as the master of this house. She loves and fears me in equal measure, as all my subjects do.”

The three of you settle down together in the living room anyway, despite Frisk only really having come over to see the cat, because it’s Frisk and you’ll be damned if that’s not an occasion to take advantage of. But eventually Petra emerges and Chara scoops her up into their arms, where they settle in as readily and comfortably as a child cradled by their mother. Thus, the evening turns into you and Frisk admiring Petra from a distance, with Frisk singing Chara’s praises for somehow taming the ferocious beast and you snapping pictures of them with your phone.

Despite the distance that remains between two you, for the first time since Petra’s arrival, you begin to feel like a pet owner.

 

 

* * *

 

 

That evening after dinner, when Frisk has already gone home and you and Chara are doing the dishes together while Petra weaves between your legs, you say, “So how long did you know Petra before adopting her?”

Chara drops their plate with a _crash_. Petra leaps into her hiding space beneath the sink. You get a broom and dustpan.

Once all the shards have been swept up, Chara says, with feigned casualness, “What do you mean?”

“I thought Petra just didn’t like me,” you explain. “Which I sort of understood. But she didn’t like Frisk either, which makes _no_ sense. So she probably has trust issues in general, which means you won her over somehow, which means you’ve known her longer than I thought, because we’ve had her for a while now and she’s _still_ wary of me. You must have known her even longer. Fess up.”

“Ooh, you’re so dashing when you’re deducing things,” Chara says, batting their eyelashes. You gently bap their head, and their flirtatious expression disappears, replaced with a scowl. For a moment, they remain silent, swishing about the sudsy water with their hands, until finally they say, “About a month.”

Not as long as you’d expected, granted, but… “Does that mean you _did_ have to do the paperwork and interviews and stuff?”

“Maybe.”

“Why’d you lie? I could’ve helped you with all of that.”

Chara sighs, pulling their hands out of the water and wiping them on their jeans. “I was nervous about telling you,” they mumble. Suddenly they glare at you, as though _you_ had been the one to lie. “I thought it would be easier to just show up with her and not give you a chance to say no. It was a stupid idea, and I feel bad about it now, but I thought...I thought you wouldn’t be able to turn her away after seeing her, so maybe it would be all right. I’m sorry you’ve been getting all scratched up.”

“It’s okay,” you say with a shrug. You begin to wipe your own hands off as well. “I’m used to it. I’d have to be, living with you.”

“Don’t _say_ that, you make me sound like some kind of weirdo,” Chara says, disgust colouring their expression.

Ignoring this, you ask, “Why did you go to so much trouble? Did you really want a pet so badly?”

“Sort of,” Chara confesses. They cross their arms, looking away. “I...I read somewhere once that animals are good for...well, for people like me, who can’t always be around other people, but still need.... _affection.”_ They say it like a dirty word. “But I looked into it, and all the websites were talking about therapy _dogs._ I wasn’t sure if I could take care of a dog, and I didn’t want to saddle you or Frisk with that responsibility. But I started going to the shelter anyway, just to look around, and I saw Petra, and I liked her.”

“Didn’t she bite you too at first?”

“Oh, yeah,” Chara says easily. There’s no hint of anger in their voice. “But I didn’t mind. I mean...her old family wasn’t very nice, apparently, so I didn’t blame her.”

You swallow. _Not very nice_ can mean a lot of things. Judging from just how tightly Chara’s nails seem to be digging into their arms, it means exactly what you’re thinking of.

Chara sighs, then smiles up at you. Their eyes are tired. “I know you’re not so dumb that you can’t see what I’m getting at,” they say almost wryly.

“Yeah, I think I get it,” you say, trying to smile back. “Projection is...fun.”

“I’m just sorry that I was too afraid to _talk_ to you about it,” they mutter, face once again morphing into a scowl. “It can’t have been much fun for you. The shelter worker gave me all kinds of warnings beforehand — that she wasn’t very friendly, that she might have trouble eating, that she wouldn’t be all cute and sweet and friendly like the newborn kittens everybody seems to want more than the troubled adult ones — y ou at least deserved to know all that before I threw her at you.”

“I don’t mind,” you say immediately. “I would have said yes anyway.”

And although you hadn’t thought about it before—although you should probably be a whole lot angrier than you feel right now—you know, without a flicker of a doubt, that this is true.

Chara sighs. “You’re sweet,” they say, and they step towards you, wrapping their arms around your waist. “You’re so, so sweet. I knew that I could trust you.”

“We’re not getting any more pets,” you say as you enfold them in your arms.

Chara immediately tries to pull away, but you hold fast, until finally they collapse giggling against you.

 

 

* * *

 

 

You’re usually the one who’s away from home the most, what with all your classes, clubs, and other responsibilities. But occasionally your and Chara’s schedules become ever so slightly unaligned, and as a result, _they_ wind up being the one out of the apartment while you’re the one alone. Usually you don’t mind —not as much as you did when you were younger, at any rate— but for the first time in months, you’re not _actually_ alone. Instead, you’re alone with Petra.

You spend most of the day doing your own thing, mostly because you don’t want to overwhelm her. You’re trying to be conscious of her boundaries these days—at least, as much as one can be with a cat. You no longer try to pet or play with her, but you do everything else you can think of to keep her happy. You keep her litter box clean, her food dish full, her toys easy-to-find. You speak softly, keep the volume on the television low, and make sure she’s safe in her sanctuary underneath the sink before you even try to pull out the vacuum.

You have no idea if any of this is working.

“You’re doing well,” Chara insisted the other day when you brought this up with them. “Winning an animal’s trust takes time, especially an animal with a history like hers. But you’re being patient, and that’s the most important thing.”

“I’m not very good at being patient,” you’d confessed.

“You’re better than you think you are,” they’d said immediately, lifting a hand to your cheek. “You did some dumb stuff when we were kids, sure, but you have a knack for helping people who are scared feel safe. That’s why I knew that I could trust you.”

It seems like an awful lot of pressure, bearing the weight of Chara’s trust, especially when you know that you will inevitably let them down in a thousand different ways. But all the same, you want to try. Having this cat is important to them, and if all they need is for you to be understanding, then that’s something you can do.

You think.

So you spend the day avoiding Petra, doing your best to maintain a safe distance, only looking up occasionally to check on her.

Then, around noon, you look up and catch sight of Petra licking her stomach.

She doesn’t do so lazily, like she does when she’s grooming. She does so roughly, carelessly, and your first (probably kind of weird) thought is, _if her tongue was any rougher, she would probably be bleeding._

That...probably isn’t normal.

You send off a text to Chara— _how much licking is normal for cats????_ —but even after waiting patiently for five entire minutes, no answer comes. Which is to be expected, you suppose. Chara’s out because someone called in sick at the library where they work part-time: they’re probably busy right now.

Still, Petra won’t stop doing it, and if it’s stressing you out this much just to see it happen, then odds are it’s stressing her out too.

You begin to rack your brain for something you can do. You could drag her to her safe spot, maybe. But she would fight you the whole way, and she might just keep on doing it in there, and if she’s _this_ upset right now, you’re not sure if you ought to put her there against her will. She might start to think of it as some kind of punishment room, and that would just upset her more.

An idea occurs to you. Quickly, you stand.

Too quickly. Your chair screeches on the tile and you freeze. Petra’s staring at you, eyes wide, before immediately resuming licking.

Definitely a stress behaviour.  

You find the blanket you’ve been privately thinking of as Petra’s in your bedroom, folded with the other laundry neither one of you has bothered to put away yet. You grab it and take it with you to the living room, where you toss it over Petra the way you’d once seen Chara do.

You half expect Petra to flee, but she doesn’t. Instead she goes still, and then the lump under the wool begins to shift.

She’s curling up, you realize. She’s relaxing. But why was she so nervous in the first place?

There’s only one thing you can think of.

“Do you miss Chara?” you say out loud, careful to keep your voice low.

 _Stupid,_ you chastise yourself. It’s not like she can answer. And even if she could, she wouldn’t answer _you._

Still.

“I miss them too,” you say. “You’re probably not used to them being away yet, are you? But they’ll be back soon.”

Petra shuffles under the blanket. You wish that you could see what she’s doing, but you don’t want to peek and deprive her of whatever security the blanket gives her.

It’s like Chara, you think vaguely. Chara’s always enjoyed pressure. Firm hands and weighted blankets. And if it’s through a blanket, you think, then maybe—

Hesitantly, you reach out, lightly placing a hand on what you think might be Petra’s head.

And through the blanket, Petra begins to purr.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Chara comes home later that afternoon, she finds you stroking Petra’s head through a layer of green wool, tears in your eyes.

“I love this cat,” you choke, and Chara bursts out laughing before joining you.

They press a kiss to your temple, letting one hand rest on the back of your neck before letting the other join your own on Petra’s head. And together, you and Chara pet your cat.

 

 

* * *

 

 

That night, Petra comes to sleep between the two of you like always.

As she settles down, you feel a small, rough tongue flick out against your paw pad.

You fall asleep that night with a smile on your face.


End file.
